


see you again

by rapweezer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Banter, Domestic Bliss, Flat Mom Harry, Friendship, M/M, Pining, Romance, Social Butterfly Louis, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapweezer/pseuds/rapweezer
Summary: Zayn settles into his second year of Uni (mostly) as anticipated: with his best friends, copious amounts of work and Louis’s incessant need to socialise him into an extrovert. All this, and Zayn’s favourite part might just be running into a gorgeous first year a bunch of times.





	1. Chapter 1

Zayn’s sinuses perk up before anything else. Honestly, Harry’s pancakes could wake the dead.

He blinks the fuzziness of sleep away and looks over at his bedside clock to see it’s just after ten.

He sits up and stretches, inhaling the tantalising aroma of breakfast food that’s made its way into his welcoming room.

Harry’s at the stove when Zayn enters the kitchen, hair in a loose bun, holding a spatula in one hand and almond milk in the other. Niall’s on one of the couches, nursing a coffee and watching the news.

“Good morning,” Zayn coos.

“Morning, dear,” Harry says.

“I wonder if Louis will ever not be the last person up,” Niall pipes up. “There’s coffee on the side, Zayn.”

“Sick,” Zayn says, pouring himself a cup, waiting patiently for Harry to feed him.

Harry is a breakfast and baking fiend and insists on catering to them. It's great, really. Food works out so well in the flat since they no longer buy separate stuff, instead ordering a huge shop online, putting towards their quarter of the cost and sharing everything.

“He might be showering, actually,” Harry suggests. “You know how bloody long he takes. It’s a miracle the rest of us get hot water.”

Harry plates up the pancakes for the four of them and Niall joins them both at the breakfast bar. There’s fruit, cream, syrups and fresh orange juice laid out already, and Zayn notes Harry has replaced the old flowers in the vase with new ones.

“You know in, like, American films,” Niall starts, mouth full of fluffy pancake, “the kids or whatever walk into the kitchen and there’s enough breakfast food on the table to feed a small remote country.”

Harry grins proudly. “What can I say, I’m a feeder.”

Zayn shares a fond look with Niall. The pancakes might be Harry’s specialty. Or his lemon drizzle cake. Either way, he’s a dab hand at cooking and they all reap the reward.

Louis comes in a few minutes later with wet hair and bare feet, smelling citrusy. “Morning, Aunt Bessie,” he says to Harry, promptly digging into his pancakes.

Niall’s the first to clear his plate and get up to leave. “Pray my lamppost of a Law professor doesn’t bore me to death.”

“Have fun,” Louis says.

Harry’s next out the door, portfolio folder in hand and large knitted scarf obscuring his mouth.

“Got anything today?” Louis asks.

“Seminar at three,” Zayn says.

“Wonderful,” Louis grins.

“I don’t like that look.”

“Oh, yes you do,” Louis sings. “We’re going out for some expensive coffee.”

Zayn groans.

*

“Get the burgundy one, you look peng in that colour.”

Zayn lifts a dubious eyebrow. Of course Louis had managed to drag him shopping. It’s very unnecessary. Zayn’s not exactly breaking the bank with his spending, but he takes pride in being responsible with money and not buying clothes for the fun of it. His wardrobe is fine as it is. He also oscillates between five outfits, so why bother?

Plus, the stuff in here is obscenely expensive.

Louis innocently walked them into a designer outlet and Zayn almost had a heart attack when he spotted the display of Givenchy bags.

Zayn looks down at the offensive material. “Louis, we’re literally going to be charged for breathing in here.”

The security guard has already slipped them a few wary looks, but those were mostly at Louis for waltzing in here with his obnoxious cream-mounted coffee that Zayn is praying doesn’t end up on anything.

“I just want a cute jumper,” Louis huffs, “Some solidarity, please.”

Zayn would tell him that if he buys that thing then he probably won’t be able to afford his contribution to the food shop for the next three months, and the rest of the flat will have to mother him (mostly Harry), but when has that ever stopped Louis?

“No,” Zayn says. “If we were in H&M, I’d let you buy two.”

“Oh. Why the bloody hell are we in here, then?”

“We—I was following you!” Zayn protests.

“Not your best idea, sweetie,” Louis tuts. He places the jumper delicately back on its rail with no coffee spillages, as far as Zayn can see. “Come on, then.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and follows him out of the store. He really should be back at the flat, or at the library, reading some more of his assigned book. The need to be productive always seems to nag at him these days, and the boys say it’s unhealthy or something. ‘Inane’, Louis says (a word he learnt from Zayn).

It started just after his sixth form exams finished. He’d worked his ass off the whole year and had earned himself two A’s and an A*. He’d literally cried opening those results, and his parents were pretty close to tears. So, now that he knows the hard work payed off, he’s eager to stay motivated and do well.

On the other hand, Zayn’s grateful he has the boys to bring out the social butterfly in him. He’ll admit to being introverted, because he prefers a chilled out environment with people he’s close to or just his own company. The nice balance keeps him sane, probably.

“Don’t you have a lecture at some point today,” Zayn inquires as they slip into H&M.

Louis waves him off. “Plenty of time before that starts. “Now, you workaholic, help me choose something to wear tonight.”

“And what’s happening tonight?”

“We’re off out on the piss, obviously.”

Zayn gives him a look. “We definitely are not.”

Louis considers a mesh shirt and tuts in Zayn’s direction. “You know, for someone with so much brains, you more often than not get the wrong answer when it comes to nights out.”

“It’s Wednesday!” Zayn points out, outraged. “Who goes out at the middle of the week?”

“Every student ever, Zaynie. Again, smart boy yet so much to learn.”

“Don’t patronise me,” Zayn says firmly.

Louis heaves out a sigh. “I’m joking, and I love you, and I think you should come out with us all. We’re not forcing you, but we’d have a significantly less fun time if we left that flat tonight knowing you were in your room doing something ridiculous, like reading a book.”

“Reading is enjoyable,” Zayn mumbles.

“Mhm,” Louis says distantly. Zayn is shooting daggers at him, not that he can see. He hums appreciatively at a light blue shirt and grabs it. “I know you notoriously hate most clubs I drag you to, but this one, I think you’ll like. Haz and Nialler agree with me. You could say we picked it especially for you.”

“You’re too kind to me,” Zayn says dryly. “And you know I really don’t hate the clubs. I have a good time once I get into it. I just like some peace and quiet. Then again, I said goodbye to that life the day I met you.”

Louis smiles warmly at him. “When we’re old and grey, and I have hips problems, then you may have peace and quiet.”

*

Zayn escapes Louis’s consumerist talons unscathed and heads to his only timetabled thing that day. It’s a chilled seminar with a dozen people, and they discuss the assigned reading _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , a book that Zayn is half way through and loving.

They go back and forth with thoughts and opinions on the book so far and make the most of the hour they get. Time always flies during these sessions. Zayn makes sure he has a page of notes down before he leaves to help with future essays, because if first year taught him anything, it’s that you can never have too much information on a text when it comes to writing a paper on it.

Zayn thanks the lecturer and slips out the door. He pushes his earphones in and has A Tribe Called Quest accompany his walk back to the flat.

It’s just after four, the sky clear and blue and the air just on the side of chilly. Zayn’s favourite kind of weather.

He heads to his room first to chuck his backpack on his bed and hang his keys on the door.

“Anyone home?” he says in the hall, loud enough for the flat to hear. There’s a heavy silence.

Zayn shrugs, heads into the kitchen, hooks his phone to the docking station and starts on some grub.

*

There’s a polite knock at the door as Zayn’s marinating his chicken in a pan. He barely hears it over his music which isn’t even that loud. He adds soy sauce and some more sesame oil to the pan and brings it to a simmer. Lord knows where the other three are, because that definitely isn’t them knocking.

It’s just Zayn’s lucky day that he opens the door to a fit bloke holding leaflets.

“Hi,” fit bloke says nervously, “I’m just handing out leaflets for this nightclub thing, if you’re interested?”

Oh, he’s one of those event organisers. Zayn got tonnes of these bloody flyers at the beginning of first year and Louis made it his life mission to drag the flat to every one of them.

“Sort of exhausted most of those clubs during first year,” Zayn laughs apologetically.

The boy’s pretty brown eyes widen and he clutches his handful of leaflets. “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t aware you weren’t a first year. The organiser of it told us to knock about the place. They paired us up but we split off to get the job done quicker.”

Zayn nods slowly and remembers he has food cooking.

“Sorry, you don’t care about that,” he says.

He’s not wrong, Zayn really doesn’t. He’s a lot more interested since it’s an attractive person telling him about it, though. He’s not completely out of his mind to want to invite this guy in for a coffee and some teriyaki chicken.

“I’ll be leaving, sorry to bother,” the guy says.

“I’ll take one,” Zayn blurts. “Like, I don’t know. Use it to make our notice board a bit brighter.”

Brown Eyes lights up and he hands one over. “Not bad use for it, actually.”

Zayn grins tightly. The kid’s cute. Lovely and obviously attempting to flirt. If this was a two in the morning nightclub situation, maybe Zayn would switch the charm on. They are not, sadly, and Biceps currently isn’t worth Zayn’s beloved food burning to a crisp.

“Cheers, I’ll pin it up," Zayn says awkwardly. "Catch you later.”

Zayn smiles politely and acknowledges the guy’s goodbye before he lets the door fall closed.

He returns to the hob where his food is intact and looking delicious, if he does say so himself. He goes to the fridge and grabs the containers of rice and vegetables he’d made the other night and warms them in the microwave. If he’s out drinking tonight, he’s definitely getting a decent meal down himself beforehand. Well before the onslaught of pre-drinks begins.

He takes advantage of a peaceful, empty flat as he eats, all the while wondering if he should have gotten that lad’s name.


	2. Chapter 2

“Right, lads,” Louis slaps his knees and gets to his feet, “Glad rags on. You as well, Zayn.”

Zayn looks up from his phone and glares at him. His alone time lasted a solid fifteen minutes before the boys traipsed back in. “I love how I’ve already given in and agreed yet you still want to put me on blast.”

Louis wanders into the kitchen, smirking, says, “You might get away with staying in, otherwise.”

“Don’t worry about not getting any work done for one night, Zayn,” Harry says, waving a dismissive hand, “I’ve got half a sketch book to fill and an entire study on Édouard Mane to have done by the end of the month, but it’s chill. I’m enjoying myself tonight.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “it’s not like you’re hindering group work, unlike Niall.”

Niall snorts. “No way am I working on a court case proposal with those lot in the bloody evening,” he says, scooping up a mouthful of jacket potato with his fork.

“I suppose,” Zayn sighs dramatically. So, he might be milking it a bit now. Louis’s reaction is worth it, though, the drama queen.

“Wonderful!” Louis calls from inside the fridge. “Harry, can I have some of this leftover pasta?”

“Go for it,” Harry says.

“Are you lot in the Facebook group for this event tonight?” Niall asks, scrolling through his phone.

“Nah,” Louis's hitting buttons on the microwave to warm his food, “it’s not like we don’t know how student nights out are.”

Niall hisses through his teeth, “It’s gonna be rammed, lads.”

“I’ll never go out with you again if tonight is shite, Louis, since you’re hamming it up,” Zayn teases, “I know being around people drinking themselves to paralysis and shitty indie megamixes is your ideal night out, but it’s not mine, love.”

“You’re so up yourself with your interests, Malik,” Louis says, rudely, “This place has an R&B room and there’s, like, three floors. Don’t tell me you’re not up for that. It’s entirely your thing.”

Zayn hums appreciatively. That _does_ peak his interest. Most of the nightclubs Louis drags them to play indie chart music and it’s fine, but once you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all. Zayn doesn’t know if he can handle trying to care when Mr. Brightside comes on and the whole place erupts into choir.

An R&B floor, though? It’s no sitting in the comfort of your own room with Frank Ocean in your headphones, but it could be a good time.

“I’ll give it a go,” Zayn says warily.

Louis's dishing up his food and smiling triumphantly. “We’ll get there early so there’s minimal drunk people, just for you, Zaynie. Get you some dick, too, you miserable little shit.”

Zayn chokes on a laugh. “I am not running after fresher nightclub dick. On a Wednesday. That is a line crossed, Louis.”

“You’re a bore,” Louis complains. “We know you want that nerdy but simultaneously gorgeous library loser to sweep you off your feet, but that’s not uni, Zayn. Everyone ignores each other unless they’re off their tits and want a shag.”

Zayn sighs, defeated. “I’m convinced this is why you’re so terrible at making friends outside of us.”

“I would die at a moment’s notice for all three of you,” Louis announces. “Everyone else gets my terms and conditions and an application form.”

Harry kisses him sloppily on the cheek.

*

Zayn showers after they’ve all eaten together and decides on keeping the stubble. He likes how it looks on him as of late. It’s alluring, or whatever. Not that he’s going out of his way to attract that kind of attention.

He pats himself on the back for actually doing laundry the day before and being able to pick out a fresh outfit. He goes for one of his favourite t-shirts, some black jeans (tastefully distressed with rips at the knee), Vans and a denim jacket.

He spritzes his neck and wrists with colonge and gives himself a once over in his wardrobe mirror. See, Zayn can stunt when he wants to. The outfit complements the new splashes of ink covering his arms and the nose piercing he got over the summer. He thinks he looks good.

“You’re fitter than all of us put together,” Harry says when Zayn walks back into the kitchen.

“I spent like forty minutes on my hair,” Louis adds, “You better get drunk and embarrass yourself.”

Zayn gives them a sweet smile. Even if Louis's compliments are backhanded, him and Harry really do gas him up. He can’t forget the times both of them have hit on him, genuinely, when drunk.

“Anyway,” Louis claps. “As you can see from my lovely display, our night has officially begun.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at the playing cards on the table. They’re definitely playing a bunch of shitty drinking games, courtesy of pre-drinking tradition, before they even get to the club. Zayn planned to pace himself because it doesn’t take a lot of alcohol to get him buzzed, and he would like to wake up the next morning with minimal alcohol-induced ailments.

“What playlist are we feeling?” Harry asks. He's wearing black skinny jeans with a patterned shirt, tastefully unbuttoned at the top so his necklaces sit over his chest.

“None of that experimental dream pop you listen to,” Louis says, “Just stick a standard crowd pleaser playlist on. You’re good at those.”

Zayn necks a shot of Disaronno and nurses a sour cocktail that Harry slides over and it’s great, just enough alcohol to ruin his oesophagus.

“What is with you lot and having no female friends to invite to these shindigs,” Niall pipes up.

“I do,” Harry says proudly, “but they’re all on my course, so they usually go for a local gig over a nightclub.”

“Sounds pretentious,” Louis says.

“And artsy,” Zayn adds.

“Exactly.

Besides, this is a quality flat time,” Louis says, “You can just wander off when we get there and find us three hours later with one shoe and lipstick on your face.”

It’s true, they really do lose Niall more often than not. He’s one of those who makes throwaway nightclub friends, kind of like Louis. The sort of people they never speak to outside of inebriation.

“It’s all fun and games, pal.” Niall says. “To be fair, I’m starting to enjoy pre-drinking more than the actual night out. Nothing like sitting in student accommodation with cheap drinks and your best mates, is there?”

“Don’t sit there and lie to us, you delightful bastard,” Louis smirks.

Niall smiles into his beer while Harry shuffles a deck of cards.

*

The cold air that hits Zayn when they leave is definitely welcome, until he realises his denim jacket won’t do him any good since it’s bloody two degrees outside, so the walk there ends up being freezing, but it’s made better with Harry’s singing and Louis making them all laugh so hard that Zayn nearly keels over.

The place isn’t far, thankfully; a little more into town where the nightlife typically happens. It's actually directly opposite the little vintage store where Zayn buys his insense sticks from.

The bouncers do a thorough check of everyone’s IDs, but Louis’s in particular. Louis, who looks nothing like the photo on his license.

“What? I lost the baby fat and started caring about my hair,” he’d argued.

The place is nice, though, lit up purple with pretty spotlights and booths and two bars at either end of the floor. Quite cosy. Or, as cosy as a nightclub can be.

“Shots!” Louis announces, dragging them all to the bar.

“I bloody love the north,” Harry shouts over the thud of the music. “Drinks are dirt cheap. Have to take out a mortgage in any bar near London.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you take the piss out of our accents,” Louis snaps, knocking back something clear and potentially deadly.

They head over to the seats with their drinks and manage to nab a free booth that faces out to the dancefloor. It’s quite the sight. Freshers, mostly, either standing at the wall awkwardly or throwing shapes like it’s the first time they’ve heard a trap beat. Zayn remembers their first University nights out all too well, and they started off exactly like that.

“How much of a laugh would it be to see one of our tutors on a night out?” Niall says. “Not those trainee substitutes, more like my miserable wanker of a law professor.”

“A friend from back home works on the door of one of our clubs, and she had a few creepy guys who are teachers asking them to make sure their students weren’t in there,” Harry tells them.

“What the fuck,” Zayn laughs. “That’s such a red flag.”

“Confirms they’re absolute dangers,” Louis says. “I wouldn’t rule out some of them being involved with students, the creeps.”

“You’re one to talk,” Harry says incredulously. “You practically stalked that Psychology lecturer from last year.”

“Yes,” Louis says immediately, “but it’s not as if he knew about it and decided to pursue me. Honestly, though, you should have seen the arse on him. I couldn’t be blamed.”

“Didn’t need to,” Zayn says. “You explained in great detail.”

Harry pushes out his bottom lip. “I don’t have cake.”

“Oh, Harold,” Louis coos. “You have more than enough of everything else.”

Zayn zones in an out of the conversation, laughing and agreeing when necessary. He mostly watches the atmosphere of the room, looking around for someone he knows, but he’s not sure who. Maybe someone from his very relaxed reading group likes to drink themselves mortal on a Wednesday night. Who knows?

He shrugs it off and knocks back a shot that Louis paid for.

*

After Zayn’s near demands, they make it to the R&B room with minimal complaints. Niall being the culprit, saying, “Whose fucking bright idea was it to decide this many stairs should be in a nightclub? I’m gassed.”

Zayn’s just on the side of tipsy, and it’s a good feeling. He usually slows down even more at this point, getting singles instead of doubles and making sure to ask for a cup of water to go with it. The water is also his friend when he decides to dance. He’s a smart man.

Zayn’s pulled out of his thoughts by Harry chasing Louis onto the dancefloor.

“Come on, you miseries!” Harry shouts over his shoulder, nicer than Louis would have said it.

Niall drains the last of his beer, steals the little umbrella from Zayn’s drink and sticks it behind his ear. Zayn smiles and follows their lead to the middle of the dancefloor, where Harry and Louis have compressed themselves in like sardines. Zayn remembers he’s wearing a jacket and cringes. He gives Niall his drink to hold and quickly shrugs it off, tying the arms around his waist.

The music feels considerably louder than downstairs, but the DJ’s playing early two thousands R&B, and yeah, Zayn’s feeling it. There really is little room to be self-conscious when you’re reasonably intoxicated, with your best mates and dancing to Usher.

And okay, Zayn definitely gets looks. But he knows exactly the kind of looks they are, and he’s not particularly interested. The idea of catching someone’s attention because they intend to get off with you doesn’t really float Zayn’s boat anymore. The immediate gratification of a one-night stand isn’t worth the aftermath, either, Zayn’s found. Louis would call him pretentious, but Zayn just finds nightclub hook-ups unattractive at this point.

If Zayn’s good at anything, it’s minding his own business, so he gets lost in the thud of the music and sways to the beat. He wouldn't tell them, but Harry and Louis encourage Zayn to come out of his shell when it comes to nights out and dancing. He's never considered himself quite the dancer and usually finds it a bit awkward, but it's a bloody nightclub and yes, you can dance. 

One song bleeds into the next, and Zayn's still lost in the headiness of the bright lights and the blare of the speakers keeping the mess of people singing and dancing. He catches himself, thankful the boys are still in arms reach and lets his eyes wander.

He finds brown eyes; warm ones. They’re barely visible when the owner of them smiles. But, oh, it’s a gorgeous smile. Maybe the prettiest teeth Zayn has ever seen? Is it weird to find teeth attractive? Zayn could blame the alcohol. The guy, though, looks so familiar. The flashing lights moving across the sea of people obscure his face, until they move and Zayn suddenly realises that’s the guy who knocked on his door today.

He’s talking to someone, all vibrant features and relaxed posture. He doesn’t really look drunk, Zayn thinks. Zayn’s suspicions are confirmed when he sees the guy is holding a can of _coke_. Which, okay, odd. Zayn’s not one to judge, though.

Those brown eyes never seem to meet Zayn’s, though, so he turns back to the boys. What was that about minding his own business?

“My God, did we just lose you to a fit bloke?” Louis shouts scandalously. It hits Zayn that he was probably staring at the guy for a good minute.

“I just recognise him from somewhere,” Zayn shouts. “And I’m staying with you lot, thanks.”

“Good!” Louis tells him. “Now take me to the bar for a pink gin!”

Zayn follows him out of the crowd, a little relieved to be away from the furnace of body heat. Louis will be dragging him right back in there, he knows, so he makes the most of being able to breathe near the bar.

He chances a look back to where the kid with the can of coke and the nice eyes was stood to find him still there, and this time, those eyes are looking right back at Zayn.


End file.
